A few inches from the dispenser was a white circle with a red
“Ouch!” I hissed through my teeth as something pierced my finger.
“Press your finger to the slide until a sample of your blood is clearly visible, then take a second slide from the dispenser and set it on top of the first. If you heal before you can accomplish this, simply place your finger back on the red
Being a reg, healing too fast wasn’t an issue.
“Once you have successfully acquired a sample of blood,” continued the voice, “take an envelope from the dispenser on the side of the table and place your slide inside.”
Following the instructions, I slipped my sample into an opaque plastic envelope.
My mind whirled. Nine months ago, CutterBrown Pharmaceutical—a company run, in part, by Amy’s father —had announced they were working on a test to detect LS. Almost a year later, they still hadn’t had any major breakthroughs—at least none they had publicized.
Was it possible they had successfully developed the test and were using it in the camps?
I glanced at Mel through the glass. She was obviously having trouble getting a sample. Tears ran down her face, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Something slammed into the wall on my left and I spun. The boy in that booth was having some sort of panic attack. He shouted words that only he could hear as the muscles in his arms jumped and twitched. With horror, I realized he was on the verge of shifting.
The man in white headed for the intercom again. “The girl in the middle and the girl on the right, please exit and give me your samples.”
There was a click as our doors unlocked.
Mel stepped out, envelope held loosely in hand, shoulders hunched. I remembered what she had said about her grandmother back in the courtyard.
She had every reason to need out and I had two very important reasons to stay in.
Three more guards rushed into the room and headed for the booths. Mel paused to watch. Everyone in the room was watching. In that second, my decision was made.
As the guards flung open the door to the last booth and tased the boy inside, I backed up quickly—as though frightened—and collided with Mel as hard as I could.
Startled, she dropped her blood sample. Mine hit the ground a nanosecond later as a bolt of pain shot through my shoulder.
“Sorry!” I gasped. I crouched and scooped up the plastic envelopes before she had a chance. Trying for an apologetic smile, I handed her my sample.
Mel frowned as she took the envelope, then focused her attention back on the guards as they hauled the boy—now unconscious—out of the room. “He has trouble around blood,” she said, her voice a faint croak.
I turned and headed for the cart.
Kyle was staring at my hand. He started forward, but one of the guards stepped toward him, Taser out, and ordered him to stay with the others. Kyle did as he was told, but didn’t take his eyes off me.
My stolen envelope suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. It was a relief to hand it—along with my first name— to the man in white.
I rejoined Kyle and Serena. Kyle opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut. We were surrounded. He couldn’t say or ask anything without being heard.
Before the last samples were collected, two more wolves had freak-outs—one because of the blood and another because she was claustrophobic. The claustrophobic wolf was given a second chance. The other was tased and dragged from the room.
Once it was over, the man in white left and the remaining guards followed.
We waited. After a while, a few people were brave enough to pull out their cell phones, but just like in the truck, no one could get a signal. No one spoke. It was like we were all scared the guards would return at the first whispered word.
Eventually, wolves began getting called out of the room in groups of twos and threes as the results of the blood tests came back.
All but Mel. She was taken back the way we had come. As long as she didn’t argue when they called her a reg, she’d get a ticket out of here.
At least I had managed to help someone.
Kyle and I ended up the last two.
He glanced at the door, then turned and gripped my arms. “Tell me you didn’t do something with the samples. Tell me you didn’t do anything stupid.” He stared at me as if he knew the answer but was praying he was wrong.
I swallowed. “I swapped.”
Kyle uttered a string of profanity that would have left Jason impressed, then stopped abruptly and sucked in a deep breath. I could actually see the effort he exerted to bring himself under control. “You have to tell them the truth. They’ll retest you. They’ll have to.”
I shook my head. “I’m not leaving you. Or Serena. It’s my fault you guys are here.”
“Mac, it’s a camp. You’ll get torn apart.” He ran a hand over his face. “If you don’t tell them it was a mistake, I will.”
“If you do, that other girl—Mel—will just get yanked back. You heard her in the courtyard. This’ll give her the chance to go home. Do you really want to take that from her?”
“You don’t belong here.” The words were a low growl.
“Neither do you or Serena,” I tossed back. “We don’t even know what camp this is. If I stay for a few days, maybe I can learn something. Something that could help get you out. Something the RfW could use, maybe.” The RfW—Regs for Werewolves—was one of the few groups who lobbied for werewolf rights. “You know they’d kill to find out what’s going on in the camps.”
Kyle stared at me as though I had completely lost my mind.
“There’s Hank!” I said, desperately grasping at straws even I didn’t have faith in. “You heard Eve: She thinks he’s going to come for us. And there’s Jason.” I grabbed Kyle’s arm in a death grip. “I’ll keep my head down and watch what’s going on—at least find out where we are—and in a few days, I’ll tell them I’m a reg. That way I can at least let Trey know where Serena is. Please, Kyle, just a few days.”
Emotions cycled across his face. Worry. Frustration. Guilt. And then resignation. He reached out and brushed the hair back from my forehead.
The door to the waiting room opened. Finally, he nodded.
We were led to a room that was small, sterile, and white. It reminded me of those interrogation rooms you saw in movies, a feeling not helped by the mirror that ran the length of one wall or the two guards—a man and a woman—who watched us with detached boredom.
The man was tall and lanky with a shock of red hair and pale skin. The woman had a gray crew cut and a body as square as a brick. Both looked like they’d rather be in bed.
They weren’t the only ones.
A woman with tortoiseshell glasses and a black blazer covered a yawn before telling us to hold out our left arms. I was so panicked at the thought of another blood test that I was almost relieved when the male guard stepped forward and snapped a three-inch-wide metal cuff around my wrist. A four-digit number was stamped on the front.
“These ID bracelets are designed to expand and contract when your body shifts,” explained the woman in a voice as dry and uninterested as a desert wind. “Any attempt to remove them will trigger an automatic alert to the warden and security staff.”
I ran my hand over the cuff. It was thick and there were seams halfway around, like someone had sliced it in two. The seams weren’t welded together, and when I tugged on the top half of the bracelet, I caught a glimpse of another circle of metal nestled inside.
The glare the woman shot me was so sharp that I flinched. “I was just looking,” I said, quickly letting go. “I wasn’t trying to take it off.”
